He first learned of his disability when he had entered grade school, when his teacher had seated the class and said nothing for over an hour. At first he'd thought everything was going as it had been supposed to, even though it didn't sound anything like how his mother had described it to him.
But he first learned something was wrong when he turned to his classmates, when he'd realized they were all laughing and showing facial expressions, as if their teacher really had been talking to them. But when he turned back to the teacher, he found the same stoic expression there, her lips still unmoving.
And it was only when she stared at him expectantly for minutes at a time when his suspicions were confirmed.
"Kenny McCormick," had been the teacher's only words, all before Kenny was sent away from the room.
.
Growing up, his parents had always talked to him, and it was because of this that he'd never noticed his disability before. And it was only when he saw his parents holding a silent conversation with the school counselor that he realized what they were also capable of, the capability they had never shown to their son.
When the counselor had explained it to Kenny, he was sure it had all been watered down.
"You lack the ability to talk to people telepathically," said the counselor. "To you that probably sounds absurd, but in our society it's actually quite common. It allows us to talk to only the people we want to talk to, so it prevents people we don't know about from hearing what we want to say."
"So I can't talk to people like that," repeated Kenny, and the counselor nodded.
"In our society, that's considered a disability—an inconvenience, if you will. I know you're young now, but I want you to remember these words, all right? There'll be people who'll look down on you for this, who'll call you incapable of living even. But remember that you're still human. Remember this, Kenny."
And a very young Kenny, after glancing towards his parents, nodded quietly.
"I will."
.
It was a weird sensation, being in a classroom and hearing absolutely nothing even though he knew he was meant to be hearing something. It was like being deaf to the world, because he couldn't hear the interactions of the rest of the world, yet at the same time not being deaf at all, because he could still hear the birds' melodies when he walked to school each morning. But even if it was weird, Kenny had learned to deal with it.
The teachers were most accepting of Kenny's disability, always offering the boy chances after school in which to go over the day's material. But Kenny never accepted their offers, proving to them endless amount of times that he was intelligent, that he was capable. And while the teachers believed he was all of these, his peers did not.
Kenny knew what his classmates thought of him, despite their teacher's warnings to be more accepting of him. They all thought he was incapable, naturally, since he was disabled and could not communicate to the world as he was supposed to. And somehow Kenny's mental muteness also implied he was unintelligent, which never helped the fact that he consistently scored among the top of the class with each test they took.
It caused tensions early on, tensions that lasted. Sure, he'd made friends that accepted him. But most of them hated his existence, hated the fact that someone disabled could actually be better at something than they were.
And thus, at the age of seventeen, Kenny's eyes were opened to the world.
.
In retrospect, Kenny hadn't quite remembered the counselor's words when it'd happened, though he was sure they wouldn't have helped any anyway.
It started off all right, with a farewell from his friends, who all happened to be going in the same yet opposite direction. And the first five minutes had even been all right, though the tune he'd whistled had probably not been a good idea. And consequently, as he turned the corner, he caught only the glimpse of a hooded figure before finding himself being thrown to a nearby wall.
It was a hate crime, no less, though Kenny wondered if his attackers were really the same people as his classmates who constantly abhorred him. Not that he had much time to think about that matter, though, because it'd only taken several blows to the stomach for Kenny to see stars.
But it'd only been the beginning. Punches thrown everywhere, he himself being thrown everywhere; he'd not been surprised when he found the sight of his own blood on the ground. The worst part of it all was that he knew exactly why they were after him. He knew they were enjoying it, too, that they were silently screaming their hate at him, that they were laughing at the fact that he couldn't defend himself from their verbal assaults—nor their physical assaults, for that matter.
When the attacks only continued, when Kenny was slowing approaching the threshold of unconsciousness, he began to wonder just how far they were planning on going. He felt like screaming—and it would've probably saved his life—but he wanted to stay strong, to show to his attackers that he could not cave in. But as intelligent as he was, perhaps that hadn't been his smartest move.
Kenny caught one look at a silver blade—and why hadn't his attackers used it earlier?—before having passed out.
.
He woke up in both the hospital and his parents' sobbing embraces.
"They said you'd died," his mother whispered quietly, and that was all that had been said aloud—and Kenny, happy that he himself had survived the attack, was fine with the silence thereafter.
.
It was only days later, after being brought to a doctor, that Kenny realized he really had died that night.
"And you say you're disabled?" the doctor asked out loud, and Kenny nodded quietly. "Well, I don't know if the two are interlinked by any means, but… somehow you've pulled off immortality, too."
"Immortality?" asked Kenny, and the doctor replied affirmatively. "Why…? How…?"
"Trust me, if I knew, I would tell you." The doctor sighed, turning away. "I can't say I've ever encountered such a patient. But from what the hospital records show, you should have died that night, from all the bodily damage you'd received. You'd lost your vitals for a good period of time, enough to have declared you dead—and it's a good thing they weren't quick to bury you."
"So I… can't die?"
"More or less, though there's a large difference between 'You can't die' and 'No one can kill you.' We've only proven the latter." But out of everything Kenny had learned that night, that had been the only thing to stick. What he'd learned after that moment, Kenny had forgotten entirely. The only thing he'd remembered, really, was his immortality.
That night, it gave him nightmares.
.
At the age of twenty-two, Kenny joined the police force. They had been reluctant to take him in at first, especially once they'd gotten wind of his mental muteness. Their argument was that it was a huge disadvantage on the front lines, having to communicate to someone about tactics and the like verbally, where their target could easily hear them. But his supposed immortality was enough to convince them otherwise because, well, having an officer that could not die trumped any excuse not to have him aboard.
Naturally, they'd worked him in all of the dangerous jobs, jobs they couldn't typically afford wasting manpower in should things go wrong, and for a while Kenny hadn't minded. What was there to complain about?—for once in his life, Kenny was proving to the world that his disability wasn't hindering his ability to help the world in his own little way. And sure, even if he'd died once or twice in the process, at least he was doing the world some good.
It was only when a man by the name of Kyle Broflovski had unintentionally offered a different perspective—"It doesn't demoralize you though, knowing that they're treating your life as if it's disposable?"—when Kenny began to think otherwise.
.
Kyle was Kenny's long-term project, so to speak. Kenny had been assigned to the man as his bodyguard, though he'd not been told as to why Kyle needed one. But he certainly knew why he'd been chosen to do so, and Kyle had been shameless to remind him of why.
Bad first impression, Kyle had called it, even if Kenny really didn't mind the offhand comment so much. Nothing, after all, had hurt him more than the beating he'd received years ago; an unintentionally harmful comment was nothing, really.
Kyle had taken Kenny's mental muteness warmly, which took Kenny off guard. Sure, he'd had friends back in school who'd accepted him too—but Kyle was practically a stranger, and most strangers he ran into weren't usually so welcoming of that thought. Yet there Kyle had been, talking to him in pleasant conversation, inconveniencing his normal way of speech to get to know Kenny….
"It's the least I can do for protecting me," Kyle had said. But Kenny knew better—he hadn't even done anything worth returning the favor yet. Whether Kyle was doing it from the bottom of his heart or out of pity, Kenny didn't know.
Still, the notion touched him.
.
Kyle was a decent guy, for what it was worth. Even though Kenny spent most of his time talking to Kyle about less significant things (or better phrased, everything except for the reason why Kyle needed protecting to begin with), he still enjoyed his time with him, much more than his actual officer duties on the side.
He made a good companion. Kenny had spent his younger years of life alone, ultimately. He'd had friends, but he'd never pressed his concerns or pains onto any of them. But with Kyle, he didn't need to, because Kyle himself was the one offering a shoulder, even though Kenny was meant to be doing the supporting, not the other way around. But Kenny wasn't used to sharing his life, which now seemed only natural with Kyle.
He made a good friend. Kenny felt secure in Kyle's presence, even if, yet again, Kyle was meant to be the one feeling safe. With Kyle there was a sense of trust, something Kenny had never been able to feel with others, mainly as a direct result of the animosity and hate he'd been used to receiving. Even if he hardly knew much of Kyle's life, Kenny still felt sound enough to call Kyle a friend worth having around.
There may have been something more. But because Kenny didn't know what he was to be looking for, Kenny never saw it.
.
The first assault on Kyle had occurred without fair notice. It'd been on the way home from the park—why the two were at the park to begin with Kenny no longer remembered, not in the wake of their sudden attack, though he hadn't complained at the time—when they'd been ambushed by a masked man, dagger in hand.
Kenny had told Kyle to run—and he was glad that man could run. But it hadn't been before the man had struck. And he may've screamed in pain, and Kyle may've turned around in hesitation upon hearing it, and he only hoped it wouldn't cause Kyle to come back for him.
And though he was in pain, the flesh in his side torn fresh, he sucked it up and proceeded in his own self-defense, one that had come naturally with his training, something he probably could have used in his younger years. And though it'd been with some struggle, Kenny eventually had the man disarmed and immobilized.
His consciousness only lasted long enough for fellow officers to find them.
He passed out not long after their arrival.
.
He woke up in a familiar setting, namely the hospital, as always every time he'd died or approached it. But this time, besides his parents at the bedside, he found Kyle in the room with him.
And again, it touched his heart.
"Don't move," Kyle called from the chair he was seated in, even before Kenny's parents realized their son had awoken. "You've got stitches and stuff, so the less you move the less they'll hurt and get messed up."
That was all he heard from Kyle before the man had stood up, given Kenny an empty look, and walked out with a bowed head.
.
Days later, when Kenny had been released, Kyle had been allowed to leave the station's protection and to return to his apartment. And the first thing Kyle had told him upon meeting each other was perhaps the most sincere "I'm sorry" Kenny had ever heard in his lifetime.
"For what?" Kenny had asked, because of all people, he hardly thought Kyle should be the one apologizing.
But apparently, Kyle had his reasons. "For running away when you were in pain. For not being able to do anything. For leaving you to die. For—"
"It's my job, it's the only reason they assigned me to you, because I won't die," Kenny interrupted quietly, and Kyle hesitated only for a moment before his next response.
"That doesn't mean it's okay if you go dying, just because you can't!" Kenny bit his lip but said nothing. Even though he was an adult, he couldn't help but to feel his eyes water. But why? It was too unfamiliar of a feeling, to have someone defending him like this….
"But it's my job, Kyle. If I can't protect you, then who will?"
"I don't care !" Kyle insisted, throwing Kenny off guard once more. "Listen, Kenny, half the city probably heard your cry for pain the other day. I don't know how the police force can't see it, Kenny."
"See what?"
"The difference between not knowing death and not knowing pain." And as Kenny's mind froze upon this thought, Kyle sighed and added, "You're meant to protect me, I know, and I'm sorry that you have to do this. It's just, I don't know, it makes me feel…."
"Kyle," Kenny said quietly, because it was all he knew how to say in that moment. And all else, he said with silent tears.
.
It continued in this way for some time. Every time Kenny died trying to help Kyle escape his attackers, Kyle would come crying to him in the hospital room, begging Kenny not to let things continue in this way. Sometimes Kenny would get Kyle to admit that it was breaking his heart; other times, Kyle's frustration was contained rationally. Either way, it never ceased to touch Kenny.
But the ground was now dangerous to tread upon. Kenny had never felt so appreciative towards a single person before, and he could no longer pass off the warm feeling Kyle gave him as a mere product of friendship and excessive gratitude. Briefly, in the moments his old classmates had spoken to friends non-telepathically, Kenny had heard such a feeling as being described as a fluttering of butterflies in one's stomach, which in all seemed accurate.
But they'd called it love, which scared Kenny the most. He wasn't supposed to like other men. Homosexuals were the only other group of people back in school, besides himself, that had been beat up for who they were. And though his life was not exactly school, ideas and opinions in school were generally akin to society's.
Besides, Kenny wanted kids. Kyle couldn't give him kids.
But Kyle treated him well. Perhaps the only person aside from his parents to ever do so. Kyle made him feel wanted and cared for, and… well, fuck.
If Kenny believed he wasn't even remotely in love, then he obviously did not know what love really was.
.
With Kyle, Kenny had been attracted to Kyle's character first, because he really didn't want to believe that he was truly attracted to another man. But in time he began to notice how clean Kyle's appearance was, how alluring it was to stare into Kyle's eyes, how he was overall quite an attractive man that he wouldn't mind being in—
No, Kenny hissed at himself. Getting ahead of himself, there.
It inflated his confusion, even if it was meant to make the end realization more clear. Sure, it made the difference between dreaming of being together for life and dreaming of being together in bed. But when it came down to it, whether Kenny admitted it or not, he would've been okay with either.
.
With Kyle, Kenny forgot that not being able to talk to people telepathically was even considered a disability. With Kyle, he felt normal. And if nothing up to now had been fucking enough to convince Kenny that Kyle meant something in his life, that Kenny wanted said something in his life, then this certainly did it.
.
So Kenny told Kyle all of this, one day, at Kyle's doorstep. There was no hesitation, no circumnavigation. Kenny had led up to this moment, anticipated every outcome. And from his experiences with what would've been death, he thought he could bear any pain that came his way.
Kyle's reaction hadn't been so bad, though not exactly positive: "I, I have to think about this a little bit. I'm sorry, Kenny. Good night." And sure, it wasn't a beating, and he'd already anticipated such a response. But it still stung like hell.
It was a new pain. Kenny didn't like it, because at least with the physical pain he could pinpoint the source and have it looked at. But emotional pains, no, they were not easily curable. It was like the rejection he'd felt long ago from peers who looked down upon him for his mental muteness, only multiplied by infinity, because Kyle had actually meant something to him.
He hadn't lost Kyle, he knew. But it still felt like he had.
And to a man with a broken heart, that was all that mattered.
.
He ran into an attacker on the way home from Kyle's apartment. It was an odd feeling, because he wasn't quite used to people attacking him for him , not Kyle. Once, even, his attacker had taunted him under this light, shouting whether Kenny had forgotten how to protect himself, or if he didn't know because he didn't need to.
And maybe half of it was true, because Kenny did not fight back, not even after each subsequent blow to his face, his gut, his body. It felt familiar, akin to his first beating. But he knew how to fight back now… yet he didn't.
It was merely a reminder that he was not normal in this society. He'd gotten too carried away being around Kyle. Because even if Kyle accepted him for who he was, the rest of the world wouldn't necessarily do the same. And now that Kyle had proven he wouldn't always be there to provide Kenny with his false normalcy, Kenny was sure he needed this reminder more than ever.
Kyle was too good for him, Kenny thought, and it'd been his last before dying.
.
Kenny woke up to a familiar scene, with his parents at the far end of the hospital ward and Kyle's face hovering his own.
"I'm so fucking stupid," Kyle whispered tersely, but before Kenny could comment he felt Kyle's tears on his face.
And again, he was touched.
.
In the privacy of his apartment, away from a judgmental society, Kyle kissed Kenny with a passion that conveyed exactly how much Kyle cared for Kenny, how much the man meant to him.
"And I hate it when you die," Kyle told him between kisses, "so please stop dying."
"I'll try," Kenny said with a laugh, and it had been left at that.
.
At the age of twenty-four, Kenny had retired from active duty with the force, having convinced them that he was better off employed as Kyle's bodyguard full-time. He'd even moved in with Kyle to prove the point, and though moving indeed made protecting Kyle more convenient, he was sure they both had other motives in doing so.
.
"I owe you an explanation," Kyle said quietly one day, in passing, as Kenny stepped into the apartment.
"For?"
"For why I needed a bodyguard."
And that was when Kenny had learned that, all along, Kyle had been exactly like him.
.
"Are you angry?"
"Why would I be?"
"Dunno, just asking. Because you died all those times for me, I guess?"
"Kyle, I don't regret any of those deaths if it means you still being here next to me."
"…thanks."
"But can I ask one question, though?—are you immortal, too? Someone said to me, a really long time ago, that the two might be related."
"I dunno, never found out. Didn't feel like killing myself to find out if I'd survive."
"…yeah, I'm glad you didn't."
.
In the end, Kenny decided that his life was anything but normal, or at least to society's standards, because not only was he unable to talk telepathically, but he also loved a man and survived more deaths than any man should've ever had to go through. But at the least, it felt normal, with Kyle.
And for man with a heart in love, that was all that mattered.
.
END